Til the Dawn Breaks
by youknowyouwantit
Summary: "He supposed this was Ziva's fault. Mainly because she was Ziva and his partner, and that gave him the right to blame anything he wanted on her, but also because she was different than anyone he had seen. And she had changed him." T/Z. Kidnapping case.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a story about Tony and Ziva and a kidnapping case, set after Season 7. It involves Ziva's best friend, Hannah, whom we will learn more about as the story progresses. This is only my second NCIS story, and I am very new to fan-fiction, so advice is appreciated. Thanks for reading!**

**Rated T: for minor cuss words and later suggestive behavior. **

* * *

><p>Anthony DiNozzo had not always been quite as serious as he is now.<p>

He pondered this, coffee cup in hand, staring up at the wide blue sky that protected the space above the NCIS government building. He supposed this was Ziva's fault. Mainly because she was Ziva and his partner, and that gave him the right to blame everything he wanted on her, but also because she was different than anyone he had ever met before, even Kate. Because Kate had been easy—practical jokes and long arguments and something like siblings. But Ziva was too much like him to be safe, full of dangerous smiles, and flirting and fighting.

They had been through a lot together, and he thinks that it must have been this that caused this change in him. He thinks he must have grown up some, though he would never ever admit this, even under the possibility of torture and other such dangerous convincing techniques. They were closer now too, resulting in an angrier Gibbs and crossed boundaries and blurred lines. He didn't mind much.

But they hadn't been like this since Gibbs left for Mexico, and it scared Tony a little. Because there was always something to end it—Gibbs again, or French men's daughters, or Mossad partners with terrorist tendencies or CIA operatives with lovey expressions and empty jewelry boxes and even emptier promises. He thinks of EJ and more of his own problems, but he is focusing on _her_ now, so he ignores the voice in his head.

"You have that look on your face." Ziva says from beside him, interrupting his thoughts, and studying him intensely over the rim of her coffee cup.

"What look?" Tony stares suspiciously at her, because he is the master of insults and other entertaining forms of trickery, and he knows when she is up to something.

"I am not quite sure, I do not see it often, but I think…..you might be _thinking_ about something." She grins, in that cheesy way that said she had gotten the best of him, and makes him want to grin too.

He does. "So cruel, Sweetcheeks. But I don't need to think much—I'm all action. Like James Bond or Indiana Jones."

Ziva just rolls her eyes in a way that tells him she didn't know how to respond to him, because he is Anthony DiNozzo and she is not quick enough in comebacks to rival him, and so he is proud of this.

"We should go back inside." She says. "Gibbs has not shown up yet."

"Gibbs comes and goes as he pleases, Zee-vah, he's like that really annoying cat who does whatever it wants, and bites whoever tries to argue with it. I had one of those as a child; his name was Charlie."

Ziva looks confused by his rant. "_So_?"

"So, we should not plan our lives around the fearless master." Tony grins again, because it is sunny out, and nearly May, and they do not have a case.

Ziva rolls her eyes again. "We have a case."

It's amazing how quickly she can annoy him. "How do you know? Are you some super-psychic now too? Stupid Mossad." But he gets a sudden idea. "Maybe you are speaking telepathically with Gibbs right now. That would be a cool superpower, like cooler than Batman. We need to come up with a cool name for you."

Ziva stares.

"I'll work on that." Tony promises her, and tosses his now-empty coffee cup in the general direction of the nearest trashcan. He is not surprised when it goes in. But he still pumps his fist into the air like a child, and proceeds to drag Ziva by the wrist behind him, all the way inside, ignoring threats of death, and doom and despair.

He is used to her by now. And so he doesn't mind.

* * *

><p>They attempt to sneak into the bullpen as if they had been there the whole time—well, Tony tries to sneak in, but Ziva is not very afraid of Gibbs so she walks calmly. But Gibbs sends them both a glare—he sends Tony two, which he doesn't understand since he was the one attempting to be sneaky. And some days he wishes he had the training of a certain Israeli assassin, since she obviously has mind powers and is currently in control of Gibbs, and possibly planning to take over the world. And then he is trying not to dwell on how great of a movie that would be, and so he doesn't hear when Gibbs yells at him.<p>

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barks, for possibly the third of fourth time, since Tony is having a hard time tearing his thoughts away from Ziva in one of those sexy leather outfits they always put the lead in these days.

Tony shoots out of his chair. "Yes, Boss. Ready to go."

"Gas the truck." Gibbs orders, sending him another glare, and throwing the keys. Tony catches them on one finger and swings them around, sending a wink to Ziva. Then he remembers Gibbs.

Tony ignores McGee's snort and flees.

By the time they are in the truck, and Ziva is a safe distance away from the driver's seat does he remember they have a case, and possibly a dead body, and he doesn't know what's going on.

"What's up with this one?" Tony asks McGee.

"Missing girl held hostage by a serial killer. They found her, but now her dad is missing."

"So why does NCIS care?"

"The dad is Navy."

"Do we have any leads on the serial killer?" Ziva asks from the backseat.

"No."

"Then where are we going?" Tony turns to send a questioning glance at McGee. "You should speak up before I get lost, McProbie."

McGee sends him an annoyed glance, rolls his eyes once, and turns the map upside down to squint at it, in a way that makes Tony nervous. He is currently unsure as to why anyone would give the Probie the map, because obviously: if it is not electronic then McGee will not know what to do with it.

So Tony rips it from the Probie's hands and tosses it back to Ziva, because although she is the technically the junior probationary agent, McGee will always be the Probie, because Tim is not hardened like the rest of them.

Sometimes Tony regrets that. But there are other things to worry about now, and so he doesn't tease Tim anymore as he listens to Ziva's surprising accurate directions, because he remembers a time when she told him to turn right at a_ cactus_. And such spiny type things are not meant to be directional beakers.

When they get to the crime scene, Gibbs is already there and angry, barking at local LEO's who won't let him past the yellow tape that surrounds a normal looking white house. Green shutters, a very cliché white picket fence, and a small beagle make the home appear to be the American dream. And so Tony watches Ziva out of the corner of his eye when they approach the scene, because this is what she wants.

And so he wants it too.

The argument between Gibbs and the small man with the balding gray hair (which makes Tony smooth his hair down slightly self-consciously) doesn't last long, and he is turning to them quickly, holding up the crime scene tape to let them pass. "Ziva, photos. McGee, sketch the scene. Tony, go talk to the girl." Gibbs says, turning back to the man he was talking to before—a tall man in a Navy uniform.

Tony doesn't know who the girl is, or why he is being sent, but he is Gibbs and so his orders must be followed, and so Tony swings his backpack over his left shoulder, teasingly salutes the bald LEO merely to annoy him, and jogs up the steps into the house.

There are cops swarming around inside, and Baltimore PD has a medical examiner wandering around looking confused because there is no body here, and they have not seemed to realize this yet. The Chief of Police spots him and heads in his direction, but Tony has ninja in his blood, and he ducks behind two male officers and slips upstairs.

There are three doorways at the top of the steps, and Tony the right one, giving himself a mental pat on the back when he finds it is correct. He opens the door open slowly to find a small blonde girl sitting on a bed having her arm bandaged by an even blonder nurse. Tony flashes his charming grin when she looks up, but he is too tired to mean it, because he doesn't know why a serial killer would abduct a fourteen year old girl, and Ziva is outside. But he is still pleased when she flushes in response.

And there is another woman behind them both, dark brown hair tossed over her tan shoulders, staring covertly out the window in a way that Ziva would have done. She's wearing a brown tank top and tight jeans and her stomach is rounded with child.

It takes Tony a second to realize he knows her. "Hannah?" Tony manages to ask, hiding his surprise the best he can. "What the _hell _are you doing here?"

* * *

><p>The woman, who he is sure is Hannah now, turns from the window and takes a hesitant step towards him. "Tony?" She asks, her Israeli accent thick in a way that he hasn't heard in a while, because he doesn't like Ziva's home country, because it is full of angry fathers and deserts that stretch on forever.<p>

"What are you doing here?" Tony asks her again, staring intensely at the nurse and holding the door open until she understands his meaning and slides quickly from the room. Tony takes a moment to send an apologetic glance to the girl on the bed before staring at Hannah again.

She is skinnier than she was in in Israel all those years ago, and her hair is longer, falling about halfway down her back in gentle waves. And Hannah crosses the room in three easy steps and hugs him tightly.

"I'm so glad to see you. I need your help."

* * *

><p>"This is Clarissa." Hannah tells him, gesturing to the girl sitting quietly on the bed. Hannah studies her closely for a moment and so Tony shifts her gaze to the girl.<p>

Clarissa is blonde and pretty, something he didn't expect when he imagined the teenager, and she has watery blue eyes stretched wide in fright. The bandages the nurse had been wrapping are tight around thin wrists, and a small scar stretches across her left cheek. Clarissa returns his gaze without blinking, and he realizes he likes her.

"What's wrong Hannah? Does Ziva know that you are in DC? She doesn't like surprises, you know."

"No." She moves back to the window. "But we need to move, now."

"Well, princess. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on."

Hannah nods briefly, understanding, and walks over to the closet. She throws clothes at Clarissa, tells Tony to turn around as she changes, and then starts explaining. "This is Clarissa Hyland. She was kidnapped by the serial killer Demetrius. I assume you've heard of him?" Hannah continues at Tony's nod.

"She was held hostage for five days, drugged, and can't remember a thing. I've been tracking this guy all year."

"Eli still giving orders?" Tony asks, taking the folder she hands him.

"Yeah."

He scans the pages quickly, noticing the blacked out lines and torn out pages. _'Demetrius', approximately thirty-two years old, previous member of CIA program: 'Arrow'. Dismissed from program in 2010 due to unauthorized violent behavior. Suspected in the murders of Jo Bella and Ashton James. Location: Unknown. _

"What does this have to do with her?" Tony pointed to Clarissa, who was now clad in jeans and a large red hoodie, her long blonde hair stuffed under a baseball cap.

"I'll explain later. What you need to know is, that this man's face has never been seen before. Because I found the warehouse where she was being held, and Jonathon Adamson's car was parked inside."

"The Chief of Police?" Tony moves closer to the window to stare at the yard below, where he can see Adamson and Gibbs talking. He wonders where Ziva is.

"What if he was undercover?"

"Not likely. He's got an Internal Affairs after him right now, and get this: he has a brother that was terminated from a top-secret CIA program and was marked for death. He went missing last week."

"So?"

Hannah pulls a backpack from under the bed, and pulls out a nine-mil and starts loading it. He thinks he has been in the business to long because he doesn't even bother to be surprised. Hannah slides it into the back of her jeans. "So, he has motive."

"I don't see any motive."

"Clarissa is the only one who has seen the serial killer."

"I'm staring at Adamson _right now_."

"No. It's bigger than him."

"I hate serial killers." Tony groans. "So wrong in the head. Ruining my entire day." He mutters, and then stares at Hannah. "I hope you know that I'm not letting you run out of here guns blazing."

"And why not?" She raises herself to her full height, and every line of her is the same warrior that Ziva is.

"First of all, that is very James Bond of you. Second: I can get you out of here safely. Third: you're pregnant. Fourth….actually that's it."

Hannah rolls her eyes, but still pulls down the hem of her brown tank-top self-consciously. "I'm fine Tony."

"You're gonna have to do better than that. Besides, I think Ziva has patented that line."

"I do not understand what that means."

And Tony smiles a little because he forgets that English isn't her first language, because Hannah has magically mastered the concept of American contractions, while Ziva is still so inept. But she is still Israeli and English is not her first language. Probably not her second or third either, because he knows how these Israeli assassins work.

"Never mind. Turn around."

She stares at him suspiciously. "Why?"

Tony pulls his handcuffs off his belt and dangles them in the air. "You obviously got crazy, tried to beat me up and escape when I used my brilliant use of deduction to discover you are obviously guilty of kidnapping Clarissa." He nods to her, still seated on the bed in her disguised clothes. "And you won't need the hat. We're getting out clean." Tony tells Clarissa.

Hannah nods and so does Clarissa, understanding the plan, and Hannah turns her back slowly to allow him to cuff her. Tony has one cuff on when he realizes that they need more to sell their story, and he doesn't close the links. He rotates her with his hand on her shoulders.

"Never mind. Hannah. I need you to hit me across the face."

Hannah is shaking her head before he even finishes talking, and she backs up a half step, keeping her eyes on him. "No, Tony. I don't want to hurt you."

"It will sell the story. I just need you to make my face a little bruised. You're only a wounded female after all." He grins at her. "No special training, no ninja skills. Remember?"  
>She sighs, still uncertain, but steps forward and swings before he can brace himself (or chicken out). Or maybe, before she can change her mind. Either way, he ends up with a swollen left cheek, a bruise leaving a burning sensation beneath his skin.<p>

Hannah has obviously not lost her training in the months spent away from Mossad. Clarissa looks surprised by this fact too, in fact, she has moved in front of Tony and is touching his cheek with gentle fingers, eyes bright beneath her cap. "Holy shit, Hannah. You're lucky you didn't break anything."

And Tony finds it ironic that the first words he hears the small blonde say are cuss words.

* * *

><p>Tony is bleeding now, and Hannah is cuffed, and Clarissa is hidden behind him. And he wants Ziva, because Hannah is shaking in her bonds, and Tony is guilty that he has her trapped, because he is afraid of what has been done to her in handcuffs like these. Ziva would be able to calm her down, but she is outside and interrogating people, and they need to make it past the cops first, and past the serial killer's accomplice. But no one ever said this would be easy.<p>

They are halfway outside, down the steps and through the living room where Clarissa turns sharply away because they are photographing blood splatter, when they are stopped: a hand on Tony's shoulder he doesn't like, and is thrown off quickly. And Tony turns around and recognizes Adamson.

"Agent. Where are you taking the witness?" Adamson asks, narrowing his eyes as if this will allow him to see through Tony's bullshit.

Tony finds this unlikely. "To NCIS." And he is trying to pretend to be polite, but he can't manage to call the man "sir", because he helped in the kidnapping of a fourteen year old girl. So instead, he points to his bleeding face and grins a little. "This is a wild one. You outta see her fight. She attacked me and tried to flee."

Adamson stares for a second, and Tony supposes he can't find anything wrong with his story, because after all, where else is a talented federal agent like himself going to get a black eye? "Alright, Agent." But he turns around behind him, and gestures to a nerdy looking cop with red hair and a notepad. "Cooper. Take the girl's statement. We're taking her back to the station."

Clarissa grasps a chunk of his jacket in her fists and steps closer to him, and it makes Tony stand up straighter. "I'm afraid I can't let you take her either Chief. Because of her father missing, she needs to stay in protective custody. I'm taking the both of them to NCIS. If there's a problem with that, you can talk to my boss." Tony turns around before the Chief can argue anymore. He is halfway out the door when he turns back around, staring over Clarissa's head to meet eyes with him.

"His name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and I wouldn't piss him off if I were you."

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><p><strong>Your thoughts are appreciated! Thanks for reading.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First of all, thank you for the kind reviews and to the many people who added this story to their list of favorites. I promised to tell you all more about Hannah, and I will. I also sort of have a story planned for the blonde victim, whose name is probably changing to go with the plot. Do you all want to hear about Clarissa's story too? I don't have this written and I don't really have a plot planned so I'm flexible. Also, ****I realize that my name is Hannah and so is the character's, but the naming of the character was not intentionally named the same as me. I just thought that Hannah was a name that sounded both Israeli and American, and that it fit nicely into the story. **

**Reviews are appreciated. Thanks!**

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><p>Tony's got Clarissa in the backseat of the Charger and a cuffed Hannah beside her by the time Adamson appears besides a stony-faced Gibbs, who seems to have grasped the situation well enough to transform his normal empty expression into something that resembles a pissed-off Rottweiler. If looks could kill, Adamson would be a crispy French fry, sizzled to death by the threat held in his boss's stare. And he's not worried about his boss, because the man can bull-shit, so he closes the door and moves to the driver's seat. He turns around once, not being able to resist, and sends a cheerful wave to Adamson.<p>

By the time he's in the car, Ziva is beside him, somehow, and she turns around, catches sight of Hannah and her jaw drops open in surprise. And that is when the gunfire starts.

The windshield explodes, sending shards of glittering glass flying towards them, as Tony swears and sends the car spinning in reverse, reaching over the seat back to shove Clarissa's head below her knees. Ziva's head is low, but her gun is drawn and aimed out the window, and she fires six shots before Tony has even moved the car ten feet.

And Hannah has her gun drawn too, and he has a split second to think about the astounding abilities of Israeli ninja's with handcuff picking abilities, before a bullet flies so close to Ziva's face, he loses his breath.

Tony spins the wheel, hits the brake, and feels a little bit like Matt Damon in the Bourne Trilogy, before he braces himself as the car goes spinning 180 degrees. He slams his foot down on the brake, grinning a little when the gravel spins beneath the tires because it reminds him of old films with action stars like superheroes.

Ziva and Hannah fire together—Ziva out the passenger side, and Hannah to his left, and he can see her brown hair flying in his side-view mirrors.

Ziva fires one more shot, giving time for Hannah to duck inside, and then she sits like a normal passenger in the seat behind him, gun still cocked in her hand. She stares out the space where there should have been a windshield as if there was nothing wrong.

And she does not turn to look at Hannah. But it is too late, because that is when—the Mack Truck slams into the side of the car.

* * *

><p>Tony is spinning and the world is shaking and he can't see anything but black. And his life is flashing before his eyes just like it always does in the movies, and he finds this to be a little ironic. He wants to see his mom again, wants to see his childhood home, the Atlantic Ocean stretching into the background, the wide red bricks and his best friend from third grade.<p>

Instead, he sees Kate.

Kate looks exactly the way she did the day she died, except her forehead is smooth and perfect and pale, and shows no sign of ever being blemished by the infliction from Ari's gun. She grins at him—smirks really—the way she used to do whenever she thought she was right. And Tony reaches out for her, because he always loved her somehow, but she disappears in smoke.

And he sees that windy rooftop and feels the warm spray of blood across his face, and he thinks if he had been smarter, faster, he could have saved her. The rooftop disappears and he's standing in a deserted diner. And he thinks that he's lost Jenny like he lost Kate, like he lost Paula. Because if he had listened to Ziva, he could have saved them. The scene changes again, and Tony is confused, because he doesn't remember this—this dark car, and screaming alarms, and shattered glass. He's thinking back, trying to remember who died here—and he hopes it wasn't him, but he's not really sure.

And then everything comes flooding back, and Tony jolts up, reaching for his knife in his back pocket to cut through the twisted seatbelt and free himself. He stares behind him, and see's Hannah and Clarissa, and Ziva beside him, and he pauses only a moment, to see that their chests are rising in the search for air, before he kicks the door out and climbs from the mangled car.

Tony reaches for his gun and his cell phone simultaneously, and he raises them in sync, calling 9-1-1 before pressing Gibbs' speed dial, and cocking the gun, staring around at the deserted street, the steam rising from the hissing Mack truck.

Gibbs doesn't pick up his phone, and damn the rules, damn this life that he lives, and he slams the phone to the ground, not caring as it shatters, and he kicks the glass aside to move to the car. He pulls Ziva out first, because she will always be his responsibility—his first and most important job in this world is keeping her safe, and he checks for life-threatening injuries before he lays her gently in the warm spring grass on the side of the road.

She's bleeding, but she's alive.

He cuts their seatbelts and drags Hannah and Clarissa out and lays them beside Ziva, and he tears off his shirt to tie the silky blue fabric around Hannah's arm, where blood immediately soaks through it. The red drips off the sleeve and it draws his eyes downward, to the lump that is her stomach, and he thinks that if he killed her baby, he will never, ever—not in a thousand lives, not in a million years, forgive himself.

"Damn it, damn it!" He yells, and several of the bystanders that he didn't notice before stare openly at the scene. "_Shit_."

Several people come his way, armed with cell phones undoubtedly connected to emergency personnel, sporting worried faces—that is until they catch sight of his 9-mil, lain casually on the grass. They back up slowly, and the sirens blare before any more are brave enough to come over.

He's watching all of them, watching Ziva's shallow breath, and Hannah's bruised face, and Clarissa's bleeding arm. He is so terrified that he will lose one of them, that one of them will die before he has the chance to say goodbye—to love them. And Tony prays to God to save them, and he will do anything in return.

"Sir._ Sir_. We need you to move out of the way."

There is an EMT above him, tall, and not nearly as worried as himself, when he tears his eyes away from the bleeding women on the ground to see who spoke. The EMT nods, and grimaces a little, in what Tony thinks was an attempt at a smile.

The moment Tony is standing, and a step away, EMT, firemen and police swarm the scene. He wants to shove them out of the way, hold Ziva's hand or push Hannah's hair back. But they do not know that he is a government agent, and several approach him too—as if he is weak, as if he is dying, or scared, or hurt.

_He is all of those things_, but he is also Tony DiNozzo, so he shoves several police out of the way to stand beside the ambulance door where they have just loaded Clarissa. And when Ziva's stretcher slides in behind hers, Tony jumps in after it.

Tony flashes his badge and holds a hand out to a rookie cop with spiked hair that tries to stop him, and he glares until the doors close. And the ambulance speeds away, and paramedics work furiously on them—slipping an oxygen mask onto Ziva's face, and bandaging an already-broken Clarissa's arm. He hopes Hannah is still breathing, wherever she is—and he thinks how ironic it is that they are this close to death. Because Ziva and Hannah have survived Mossad, and Ziva has lived past Eli, and Africa, and terrorists, and bombs, and imprisonment, and other types of hell that Tony is sure he can never imagine. And Hannah was involved in the undercover operation inside a terrorist cell, making bombs, and destroying things, and survived unscathed.

And they have all been wrecked in a car crash.

* * *

><p>His chest a coiled knot of nerves, pressing on his lungs and holding off his air. He gasps with every step—a furious pace that might permanently mark the linoleum tiles that cover the space in front of the door to ICU. He's praying that they live—all of them live long and healthy lives, because how is this fair? <em>how is any of it fair?<em>

Because God, hasn't he given enough? He doesn't know what else he is expected to sacrifice for this job, for saving people? It took Kate, and Jenny and Paula and Jeanne, and so many tortured victims, and agents. And it took Ziva,_ Ziva_, but somehow he still had her: by dumb luck and sacrificial tendencies he doesn't want her to know about.

It is too much for him all of a sudden, because he has to be doing something, and so he shoves through the doors of the ICU and ignores the blaring alarm is actions warrant. He flashes his badge at the five or six nurses that approach him, throw off the hands that attempt to lead him back to the waiting room.

"Stop." He says quietly, firmly.

They all freeze.

"My name is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. I am the protective detail for Agent Ziva David, Hannah Malachi and Clarissa Hyland. You need to let me pass, or I will hunt down your boss and he will let. Me. Through. This. Door." Tony says this all, in a calm tone—a deadly tone—and they clear a path for him without another word. One of the nurses even opens the door to let him through, and it is then, and only then—he flashes his grin at her.

* * *

><p>His smile is dropped quickly, his stride quickened, and when he rounds the corner to find only Hannah and Clarissa, he is sure his heart has stopped. But the doctor sees him, and looks relieved, and so Tony relaxes his white-knuckled grip on the IV pole beside him, that he didn't realize he was holding.<p>

"Doctor. Where is Ziva?"

"Ziva?" The Doctor looks confused, glances down at the chart in his hands, and then smiles. "Oh, yes. Ziva David has been moved to a temporary room. She has two broken ribs, and I stitched up the lacerations on her left leg. She'll be just fine."

"And Hannah Malachi?"

The Doctor—Tony reads his name is James—nods towards one of the beds in the corner, in which several nurses surround. "She'll be fine also. She needs to go into surgery though, to repair a smashed knee cap." He faces Tony and grimaces a little. "They were both incredibly lucky. The force of the airbag on Ziva's side of the car should have killed her."

"Killed her?" Tony wonders briefly why his voice doesn't work right, before he clears his throat. "It should have killed her Doc?"

"The way the truck hit your car, sent is spinning, and Ziva's head got whipped forward towards the windshield. She was incredibly close to the airbag when it detonated."

Tony thinks that is a strange word choice considering Tony's choice of profession, but he lets it slide, because he sees the worry on Doctor James' face; sees the hesitation there.

"Is Hannah's baby okay?"

"The baby seems to be just fine, still a healthy heartbeat, and her mother will have a long road to recovery, but the baby is healthy. It's a miracle Agent DiNozzo. She shouldn't be alive. None of you should."

Tony is confused. "Then what's the bad news?"

"Well…."

"Tell me."

The Doctor stands up straighter and motions Tony to follow him to the corner of the room, where there is another hospital bed, surrounded by pink curtains and nurses. Doctor James nods down to the sleeping form on the bed—Clarissa, peaceful face surrounded by a fan of blonde hair, her hands crossed across her stomach, the IV needle puncturing her hand.

Tony feels a stab of guilt, and watches carefully as her chest rises and falls. "What's wrong with her?"

"I'm worried about this one, Agent DiNozzo. She's in a coma."

* * *

><p>Tony sits, on the floor beside Ziva's bed, gun on his lap in a way that Vance would not like, but Gibbs might appreciate, and wonders where his fearless leader is. He wonders if McGee is okay, if Ducky is safe, if Gibbs shot Adamson.<p>

He wonders what the hell a serial killer would want with a fourteen year-old girl, and how much a new phone will cost him—since his own is shattered on the pavement, like the glass, like the car.

Tony does not think of blonde victims, and Hannah, and he does not think of Ziva. He doesn't want to think at all.

* * *

><p>"DiNozzo.<em> DiNozzo<em>."

Something hits the back of his head, and Tony leaps to his feet, gun cocked and aimed before he is fully standing, or awake. Several nurses scream, and there is a crashing sound as a medical cart goes slamming to the ground as people move out of his way. But it is only Gibbs, with a tired expression, and bright blue eyes, and a long look that pierces him and learns the truth.

"What happened?" Gibbs says quietly, reaching up to lower Tony's weapon for him.

"Car flipped."

"DiNozzo?"

"Yes."

"Good." There is a hint of a grin there, because that is all Gibbs has to say anymore, and Tony always knows what he is asking. Gibbs keeps his eyes trained on Ziva, only flickering them over once to glance at Hannah, before returning his eyes to his youngest agent.

"You kill Adamson?"

"Tried."

Tony raises his eyebrows because if Gibbs wants to kill someone, they often don't live to lunchtime. "You miss?"

"No, DiNozzo. Not a clear shot."

"Oh."

Gibbs' eyes rake up and down Tony's body, and Tony looks too, noticing for the first time the fact that he seems to be missing both sleeves, and he has a torn pant leg that appears to be leaking blood. Gibbs bends to look at it, and when he moves the fabric away, there is a giant cut that probably needs twenty or so stitches. There is a flash of pain and Tony is not sure how he didn't notice this before.

"Tony." His voice is kind enough to make Tony wince.

"Yeah Gibbs?"

"Get this checked out."

"Yes Gibbs."

Tony sounds like a child but he is too tired to care. Because Tony is flashing back to windy rooftops and deserted diners, and other people he wasn't good enough to save. And prays to God that this victim lives and Ziva lives and Hannah lives, because he is tired of feeling guilty from all the people he couldn't rescue, or all the things he hasn't helped, and he thinks he has let to many people down, and he vows to be better, to try harder, to never stop in his pursuit of injustice, if only that poor innocent girl lives. If _Ziva_ lives.

God, he is just so _tired._

But he listens to Gibbs, cuts the rest of his pant leg off so Doctor James can look at it without Tony being forced into one of those horrible hospital gowns that remind him of Kate and the plague, and he sits on the nearest bed obediently.

And Tony tries not to look at Ziva because it _hurts._

* * *

><p>Doctor James sews up Tony's leg and makes small talk that makes Tony want to throw up. And he finds Ziva's room and takes a seat beside her in a hard plastic chair that is so pink it makes his eyes hurt. Gibbs has left hours ago, mumbling about murders and sons of bitches, and "gonna die". Tony does not ask questions.<p>

"Sir!" One of the nurses exclaims suddenly from beside him. She has a mustache, Tony notices, and he thinks this must be the reason she is so angry. "You can't be in this room! And it's not even hospital visiting hours. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

And Tony does not like it when he is told what he can't do, and so he crosses his arms like a five-year old, and stays sitting. She is nothing to be feared anyway, since he has never met another woman as intimidating as Ziva, and he can handle her, so disgruntled nurses with misplaced facial hair are nothing to worry about.

And there are more important things. Because when he turns to look, Ziva's eyes are open.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is a little bit shorter, but I wanted to post something, because I felt so bad that I had left you all hanging for so long. Sorry, I had to study for finals. The chapter posts should be fairly regular now, and thank you to all of the reviews!**

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><p>"Have a Starburst. They're such a juicy contradiction."<p>

Tony is sitting on Ziva's hospital bed, cross legged, holding a bag of the colorful candy. It has only been several hours since Ziva opened her eyes, but she already looks perfectly healthy—an angry sort of healthy, but still _normal. _

"_I do not want a_—what is it?" Her eyes are squinted against the early morning sun that glares through her open window, and she stares at the bag of candy that he has stretched towards her with a distrustful glance worthy of an angry racoon or something a bit more terrifying.

"A Starburst. I got them from the snack machine downstairs." He doesn't mention it's because he was to tense for coffee, to worried for any type of food, but also much too nervous to let his hands stay still. He settles for folding the candy wrappers into miniature origami cranes, until he notices her expression. "It's candy, Ziva. It's not going to eat you."

"I do not understand you _most_ of the time."

"I know." Tony glances away from her and his gaze flickers over the small TV that is playing some useless reality show that not even he would be distracted by under normal conditions.

Ziva shifts her annoyance from her favorite target—him—to the door; dark eyes piercing the empty space in which the doctor was last seen, before he took her medical file and fled the room: chased by death threats and angry insults. He does not reappear with better news about her condition.

Tony was impressed with the Doctor James' willpower. Tony is not sure even he would have been able to stand her expression without cowering. He was only able to deny her on a daily basis because he carried a loaded weapon for protection. Otherwise, he would fear for his life.

"When will they release me?"

He wants to tell her they will immediately comply if she pulls a knife from the sheath he knows is still strapped to her upper right thigh, but he doesn't want to give her any ideas—especially ones that involve strain on the neat line of stitches that run down the length of skin from her left knee halfway up her thigh. Seventeen in all, s_eventeen._ And two broken ribs, and a bruised wrist, and a pissed off attitude.

But her attitude is the least of his worries.  
>Because Hannah is lying in an identical hospital bed three rooms away and the witness he was charged with protecting—a witness that has endured tortures by sixteen that most people won't know in a lifetime, is in a coma in the ICU. And he has always wanted Hannah to see America, wanted her to see the bustling city, see DC's blooming cherry blossoms in May, to watch a movie in the drive through. He wanted to show her the NCIS building and take her to a baseball game, the way he did with Ziva so many years ago.<p>

And Tony is used to Hannah's dark jeans, and tight black t-shirts, and so she is barely recognizable is the hospital gown with the small pink flowers. She is still asleep, the nurses say, still unconscious from the anesthesia that protected her from the pain of the surgery to her smashed kneecap.

Tony winces in thought.

"What?" Ziva asks, and Tony has forgotten where he was for a second, what his job was, who he was protecting, but his phone buzzes in his hand before he can answer her.

It's McGee: _Gibbs wants you back here. He says there's work to be done. Abby's on her way._

And Tony rolls his eyes because Abby doesn't know Hannah and doesn't know Clarissa and he can take care of Ziva much better, with a little more arguing, but also more convincing, and he belongs beside her. But he stands up anyway because the hunt for a serial killer requires more than two agents, because this man has kidnapped and killed more women in a year than Tony sleeps with in a month. Which is a damn lot—or it used to be, before Ziva.

"I have to go Sweetcheeks. Places to go, people to see." He leans down, and before he can think about it—ponder it, wonder the consequences—he kisses her quickly on the forehead. He doesn't miss the flash of surprise across her face, or the way her face softens softly as he turns away.

Tony walks the long way out of the hospital—first passing by Hannah's door and noting her gentle sleeping with a quick sigh of relief, and then slipping inside the ICU behind a nurse with a rather large, rattling cart which is loud enough to cover Tony's footsteps as he walks down the already to-familiar hallway.

He doesn't stay long, doesn't plan on doing anything but making sure she's still breathing damn it, because how many people have to die for this cause? How many people will be ripped from his life? All he wants is to save them all.

Doctor James is there, and sends a gentle wave to him, partnered with a curious—and a, somehow understanding eye roll, when he realizes that Tony should not be in this room during non-visitor hours—_Very_ Special Agent or not.

"Did you go home last night Agent?" The Doctor asks, drying weathered hands on a paper towel and tossing it neatly into the trash. He brushes past Tony without waiting for an answer, and starts rummaging in a large medical cabinet for something.

"Nope. I am _the _protection detail sir."  
>"Your Director told me there was no threat to either you or your charge's lives, Agent. He said it was an accident." The Doctor phrases it like a statement, but when he stops in his searching to meet Tony's eyes, his own are full of questions.<p>

"Yep. Mack truck drivers just like to run over little cars like mine. It's a male insecurity thing." Tony shrugs it off with his usual casualness, but inside he knows. Because he knows that the driver of the Mack truck wasn't drunk in the slightest, and when he closes his eyes, he can see the truck barreling towards him—can see the pattern on the grill right before it slammed into the side of the car—and he knows that this threat to their lives was no accident.  
>And someone will pay.<p>

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><p>Gibbs barrels into the bullpen three minutes after Tony sits down at his desk, coffee in hand, several files clasped tightly under one arm. "DiNozzo. With me." He says, and as quickly as he comes, he goes, and Tony is required to follow. He sends a look to McGee, who responds with an easy shrug, but when Tony looks behind him, McGee also watches curiously.<p>

Gibbs leads the way to the elevator and Tony steps in behind him, unsurprised by the sudden darkness and lurch to the elevator car when Gibbs flips the switch. He smiles in the dark. "I'm flashing back to middle school, Boss. In the principal's office after I put tacks on his chair."

"DiNozzo."

Gibbs never appreciates his attempts to get him to smile: so Tony sighs. "Yes, Boss?"

"Tell me about Hannah."  
>"Well, she's an assassin. Scary, huh? Has a lot in common with our own crazy Israeli. Daddy issues, trigger happy—"<p>

"_DiNozzo_."

Tony crosses his arms. "I was in Israel four years ago, with Ziva, on a mission for the Director, when you were off gallivanting in Mexico."

Gibbs tightens his jaw, but Tony has never been as cruel as he could be because he could have said: when you abandoned the team, or when you left us for white-sand beaches, or when you _gave up_. He doesn't though, he just closes his eyes for a second, and then continues his story. "It wasn't an actual assignment. We weren't undercover, we didn't bring heavy artillery or tanks or anything. I was just an escort for Mossad Officer Zee-vah David, at some yearly Mossad-is-awesome dinner. Why don't we have those anyway?"

"Anyway. Escort—maybe protection detail, maybe not for her, because that would be a joke. But possibly for those around her, because Ziva didn't want to be there, too many angry people in one room. Her father was an ass, or course. And so was Ben-Gidon."

"What about Hannah?" Gibbs asks, impatiently. His blue-eyed gaze does not waver from Tony.

"Patience is a virtue, Gibbs. I'm getting there." Tony rubs his forehead as if that will erase the headache that is pounding behind his eyes. "Hannah was Ziva's best friend from childhood. _Her _daddy was some undercover agent, but he was never around when she was a child. Of course, he did his fair share of wrecking her life after she had moved out. It usually happens in the teenage years, but there are exceptions to that I-hate-my-father syndrome that happens after puberty."

Gibbs stares in the way Ziva often does when he says something distinctly American.

"Anyway, Hannah was at the party, and Ziva was surprised to see her—she had been off the grid since a mission in South America. But Hannah wasn't there for the party, I found out. Because she was trying to find Ziva—apparently she had pissed off a lot of big-time guys when she tried to take out a terrorist cell forming in the Middle East."

"That does tend to make 'em angry." Gibbs mumbles.

"Yeah. And they showed up at the party. So obviously, the world was in chaos. Ziva went into ninja mode—when someone started shooting a gun, she actually _ripped off the bottom of her dress_ and then she pulled a gun from a sheath on her—"

"DiNozzo."

"Yes, Boss. Anyway, they came in, guns blazing. And Eli was standing, and one of the thugs was aiming, and I was wearing a vest and anyway—I sort of jumped in front of the gun."

"You what?" Gibbs is sort of furious, and Tony would find it amusing, but he thinks his boss is thinking about Kate and sacrificial tendencies the way he is. "You saved his life?"  
>"I guess. And I'm pretty sure that's why Eli David hates me a little bit more then he hates the rest of the world."<p>

"He owes you his life."

"A beer, at the very least."

"So, what happened to the girl?"

"Hannah? She was captured by the terrorists." Tony stops and plays with the button on his cuffs. He isn't ready to tell Gibbs the real story yet, what really happened in that abandoned warehouse where she was found, with the dusty windows and rusty doors. He edits a little, mixes some truth with some lies and hopes Gibbs doesn't notice the way his shoulders have tensed. "Turns out, the leader was a bastard anyway, and they were really trying to get information on the kind of law-enforcement protection there was on some of the big companies in Tel Aviv. Too bad, they didn't realize Hannah knew nothing about it."

Tony's voice chokes a little, because there is only truth in the words he needs to say next. "She was held captive for four days. They beat her. They hung her from the ceiling_ in chains_, Boss. And then took a metal baseball bat to her ribs and legs. When we found her, she couldn't walk. I carried her from the warehouse myself. I have never seen Ziva so angry, Gibbs. _I_ was afraid."

"Why is there a serial killer after her now? She still Mossad?"

If Gibbs was expecting a yes or no answer, he should know better because Tony has to tell the truth now, needs to get this off his chest. Gibbs_ has_ to know this. "That's the next part of my story. Ziva left me and Hannah in a hotel somewhere in the middle-of-freakin'-nowhere, and left, possibly to kill someone. But I didn't like that—there was too much at stake: her father was pissed because Ziva and I found his agent, when Mossad had no leads. Also, the cell was still running wild. There were terrorists everywhere, and you would think they had the sense to stay out of Tethe city, but nope, standing in the streets with AK-47's."

Tony's flashing back now, to the tiny room with the curtains drawn, and the way the sun blinded him when he stepped outside. He had handed Hannah a gun, he remembers: a stainless steel Walther PPK 7.65 that he grabbed from one of the guys that had stormed the party. She had nodded, and she had tried to smile, and he had told her that if there was trouble, to go out the window and blow the room.

Ziva and Tony had taken out the terrorist cell with several M-4 assault rifles and several significantly less Mossad agents, including Eli David, and when they returned, the room was smoking from the windows, and Mossad held a memorial service with an empty casket.

But Hannah had been two blocks away, watching from inside an old flower shop. She was shaking, and she was cuffed, and her gun was nowhere to be seen. The men had come for her, and cuffed her, but she had broken her chair over the bigger thugs head, and it had snapped under the force. She then had climbed from the window. They made the mistake of underestimating the power of Israeli ninja's in fear.

And Ziva had hugged her as if she would never let go, and Tony begged and begged, but Hannah didn't want to come to America, didn't want to leave _home_. So, Tony had called in a favor and then another favor, and they got a ride back to DC in the back of a small FedEx biplane and when they walked off the plane, Ziva had held him the way she had held Hannah, but they were okay, because they were together.

And Tony didn't see Hannah since—not until yesterday, when he had walked into a room expecting to interrogate a witness, and instead finds a woman whose life he had saved, and who he had left behind in Israel all those years ago.

Tony remembers suddenly that Gibbs is still is the small elevator, and is still watching him, and is waiting for the rest of the story that won't ever come. Because Tony is abruptly too exhausted to want to think about a past he can't erase. Because he isn't proud of the things he has done in Israel, of the things that it took to take down the terrorist cell—_because people die so people can live, and this is why no one ever wins. _

Because he remembers that tiny room with the curtains drawn, and the sounds of Hannah begging for mercy echoing through the walls when they finally kick in the doors of that warehouse. And he can see the fury on Ziva's face, and it shouldn't look so_ right_ there—it shouldn't look so perfect on her features. And he sees Eli David, and the shock on his face when Tony stares up at him from the ground, gasping for air because it _hurts_ when he gets shot, bulletproof vest or not.

And Tony thinks that there are many different ways to save a life.

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><p>"She wanted out of Mossad after that."<p>

"I can see why." Gibbs is acknowledging, almost comforting.

"We got her out of Mossad, got her out of Tel Aviv, and got her a fake ID and a fake passport and fake everything, and got her a job, because she had four offers lined up, because she was _brilliant_—still is, actually. And she never stops working. She used to say that 'there were always more bad guys'."

Gibbs rubs the back of his neck. "And Eli?"

"Was pissed, when he found out Hannah was alive. I rescued him and then I stole his best agent. Rescuing Ziva a few years later didn't help either." And Tony winces because he doesn't like talking about Somalia because it hurts to think about Ziva tied to a chair the way Hannah was those years ago.

"So, what's the connection with Demetrius?"

Tony shrugs. "I didn't get much of a chance to talk to her, before the accident. All she said was that she was tracking the guy."

"She work alone?"

"Always." And Tony grins because he can remember the way she used to be, gun in each hand and hair blowing back. She had been a lot like Ziva, back before this whole mess. Shoot first, and possibly _never_ ask questions, because orders were _orders_.

And Tony had never been good with being told what to do.

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><p>Hannah wakes in two hours with a bright-eyed awareness that only comes from being trained since birth. And Clarissa sleeps for six days and fourteen hours. And wakes without remembering her name.<p>

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Guys, I don't even know. I'm so so so sorry. And I'm not even sure what went on with this chapter. It's about Clarissa, the OC and her view on the world after waking up from her coma. It doesn't have much Tiva, but if I continue, I will give you some Tiva.**

**I have no excuse to have abandoned this story, except I didnt have time in the spring semester to write and I just took a break from fanfiction, until like August, and then I was interested in other shows, and I posted some stuff I had already written, and this got forgotten. I probs will not take this story much farther. I'm really sorry, but I'm horrible at multi-chapters. **

**I hope you still have it in your hearts to review! Because I need advice, because I really want to improve my writing.**

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><p>Bright lights glare against her eyelids, startling her from sleep. She doesn't know where she was, and in fact, her memory is surprisingly blank. She feels stiff white sheets beneath her and some sort of gown around her and she determines that she is in a hospital. It is cold here, making her thin arms shiver, but still she keeps her eyes shut, her position stilled, until she can assess the situation and find out what happened to her.<p>

There are voices above her, about three feet to her right, beside the bed, a man and a woman's—exasperated, annoyed. The woman's voice is youthful, but somehow commanding, as she debates quickly with the man.

She deems the situation as non-hostile, and opens her eyes slowly. She is lying in a bed—starched white sheets, motorized lift, and IV tubes attached—in a normal looking hospital room , with faux lace curtains over a wide window. She stares around the room, noticing the pale brown wallpaper, and the two astonished people staring down at her.

She decides that one is a nurse-a curvy woman with bright red hair, and two different colored earrings, one a dangly pink, and the other a bright blue stud. This makes the nurse seem trustworthy, at least in her opinion.

The man is tall with dirty blonde hair and heavily muscled arms, she can see a crease at his waist, beneath an expensive looking suit and knew a handgun was concealed there, though she isn't quite sure how she is sure of that. He stares intently at her, with hazel eyes and an observant expression. She knew she would have to be careful around him—he was smart, and could handle himself well.

Before she can say anything to them, to soothe the fearful expression on the man's face, another woman enters the room. This woman is a cop-as it is now obvious the man was too, and she is smaller, tall—nearly the man's height—but very slender, with an appearance of being misjudged at much slighter than she truly is. She looks foreign, and has long, dark hair that falls long across her face, and watchful brown eyes that matched the tight chocolate colored shirt she was wearing.

"Hello Clarissa." The woman says, turning behind her to address the nurse. The redhead scurries quickly from the room. She returns her gaze to her. "My name is Ziva. This is Tony."

"Clarissa?" She asks. She doesn't understand. Who is Clarissa? Did they think _she was Clarissa_?

The woman, Ziva, turns away from her. She begins to gesture animatedly to Tony and speak to low for her to hear her. She spins around to face her again, but obviously is worried now. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Shit." Ziva cusses low, under her breath, and Tony's mouth quirks in amusement that she doesn't understand. "Okay. You don't remember getting attacked, captured? Do you remember Hannah?"

"I don't know who you are. I don't know who Hannah is."

"What is your name?" Ziva has a determined expression, and it is clear she is intent on discovering the truth no matter what. But now she has a bit of arrogance to her face as if her intent has shifted to proving that she is right in thinking that she is, in fact, "Clarissa".

"I—" She shakes her head, and blonde hair flies gracefully through the air. She grabs a strand and twists it around her finger curiously. "I don't know."

Ziva nods thoughtfully and Tony stands like a bodyguard behind her—expression fierce, arms crossed. Tony nods, stares around the room as if thinking, and then turns to meet Ziva's gaze. There is moment of silent communication before he turns to her. "Let me tell you what I know." He adds as an afterthought: "It's not much."

"You need to know that Ziva and I are federal agents. We work for NCIS. It stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Hannah Malachi, an agent of ours-" Clarissa wonders about the glance that Ziva throws to Tony. Before she can ask about Agent Hannah, two more people enter the room.

The redheaded nurse holds some sort of medication in her hands, but she-Clarissa (if that is really her name)-is much more focused on the woman behind her. She looks like Ziva, with long brown hair and wide brown eyes, looking tense and watchful and very much in charge.

There is a bandage across her knee, and she leans gently on a pair of metal crutches. "I am Hannah Malachi." She introduces herself above the nurse's head, and then waits while the nurse adds medication to her IV drip.

Clarissa tries not to let the fear of the unknown medicine scare her. She has a fear of hospitals, though she doesn't know how she knows this.

Hannah hobbles to the chair in the corner, but instead of relaxing into the comfortable recliner, she sits tensely on the edge of the pink chair and starts to explain: "I found you imprisoned in an old warehouse on Franklin Avenue, in a small room with a bed and a toilet—no windows. There was a long chain attached the wall, but you had already gotten off your handcuffs. I don't know how. You had carved five lines in the dust of the wall. I assumed days?"

She stares back.

Hannah nods and continues. "You told him your name was Clarissa and that the man would be coming back in 'four minutes'. You were very specific. You told me that the man would kill me because he was rash and violent sociopath. You told me that if he got you out of there, you could ID the man. You told me that you had a good memory and could sketch an identifiable picture."

"Did I draw the picture?" She asks.

Tony shakes his head.

"I got you out the door and into the hall. The man came back—"

"What did he look like?" She asks, closing her eyes and attempting to remember anything in this tell of events that would give her a clue as to the fact that this had been her life.

Or so these people were telling her. But she would ponder those thoughts after Hannah finished her tale.

"He was wearing a ski mask. I saw wild eyes, leather jacket, jeans."

"Weapons?"

"None visible." Hannah stares at her curiously.

She nods. "How did we get out?"

Hannah twitches, and _Clarissa_—she would have to get used to calling herself that—realizes how strange the question is, with the knowledge that she has no memory.

"I—"

"Shot him." Clarissa finishes.

Tony and Ziva behind her, raise surprised eyes to Clarissa's. "You remember?" Tony asks, moving forward in his excitement.

"No. You hesitated. Didn't want to mention any kind of violence to keep from startling me. I understand. You think I'm delicate. You don't have to worry about that."

The three are astonished now; they share a quick glance to portray their surprise. But Clarissa ignores their glances and swings her legs from beneath the blankets. "I need to get out of here."

"You—" The nurse cuts herself off, and places a quick hand on Clarissa's shoulder.

Clarissa reacts nearly subconsciously, shrinking violently back from her unexpected touch, and staring uncertainty at the woman.

The nurse-Clarissa reads '_Nicole_' from the nametag-retracts her hand quickly, realizing her mistake. "I'm sorry. But you're injured. And you can't leave until a doctor allows you too." She turns to Tony and with one simple nod, he has disappeared, without another word, she ushers Ziva and Hannah from the room too, and steps outside the door. She returns twenty-two seconds later with a stack of clothes. "Your clothes were destroyed. Patients are not normally allowed to wear clothes, but because you need to be dressed to talk to the police, I found these clothes for you. They're from my daughter, actually." She sends Clarissa a tentative smile. "She forgot them in my office. They should fit. Do you need help?"

Clarissa shakes her head violently and waits until the nurse moves uncertainty out the door, still portraying the easy grace that is present in her walk, despite her slow pace. She is obviously debating whether she should stay and help Clarissa dress, but she doesn't like help.

The moment that Nicole has shut the door, Clarissa is moving from the bed, first to the door to secure the lock, and then scanning the room for cameras. She thinks first of where she would hide a camera, and pries off the heating vent above the window first, balancing precariously on a chair, a quarter found on the hardwood floor used to untwist the screws.

But the vent is empty, and she checks several other places before admitting to herself that the room isn't bugged. She examines the pile of clothes next, and pulls off her hospital gown to stand in front of the long mirror.

She is skinny. There is no denying it. _Too_ skinny, her ribs stick out painfully from her pale skin, as do her hips. She is blonde—bleach blonde, and her hair falls gracefully down her back in silky waves. Blue eyes are framed by dark lashes, and she thinks she must have been very pretty before her capture. She isn't sure, because now she is gaunt with dark circles around her eyes and scars and scratches across her wrist and arms, and bruises coloring the side of her face.

Clarissa moves without pain though, and the thought of them drugging her sends her into a panic. And there she stands—weighing no more than ninety pounds, covered in wounds, and trembling in place. She slides the given clothes on, if only for something to do. And notices what could have once been her normal size, now falls limply on her narrow frame.

They gave her a pair of jeans and a small pink shirt, both gently worn. The pink shirt appears that it could fit a ten year old, and the jeans are scraped on the knees.

They seemed to have judged the size of her feet accurately enough to provide her with a pair of soft brown boots. She slides them on and revels in the soft feel, and though she can't remember her imprisonment at the moment—as terrifying as that may be—she seems to appreciate the comfort of these simple things more than maybe she might have been before.

But she isn't sure about anything, and that terrifies her. She seems to have an excellent memory, or is that normal? She can't quite remember. Clarissa doesn't think that most are so good at reading people, but maybe she had special training. She feels like that is unlikely—how many normal teenagers are trained on reading a micro expressions and remembering everything in sight? Clarissa shakes her head, not wanting to think about it anymore, and cautiously unlocks and opens the door, stepping into a large hallway bustling with nurses and patients and-

She nearly runs into Tony.


End file.
